


Same Difference

by AuthorByNight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: springtime_gen, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:04:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4545993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorByNight/pseuds/AuthorByNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger has always been different from other girls... in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same Difference

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for LJ user st_aurafina.

Hermione Granger had always been a different child.

Her name itself was different - nobody in Hermione's classes had been named something so peculiar. Amongst her female schoolmates there was always more than one Megan, Laura (or Lauren), and Katie, just to name a few. But there was never another girl with her name, as teachers would make plain come September.

Hermione knew when it was her turn to be called, because there would be a long pause. The teacher would hold the paper as though it was written in some secret code, her eyes narrowing slightly. She would then smile forcibly, reading the name very slowly.

“Her-mee-oh-nay Granger?”

Hermione would always struggle between respecting the teacher and correcting the teacher's pronunciation. She usually just nodded, afraid that she would get written up if she protested.

She was also unalike other children because of her interests. She always had her nose in a book. However, even Hermione's fellow bookish schoolmates couldn't relate, because while their books told stories, Hermione's books told facts. She had less interest in The Dog-Walker's Club and more interest in books that talked about the real world. Nobody really understood why Hermione had more interest in something that, to them, seemed like homework.

But while these differences made school a very interesting place at times, and the playground a very deserted one, it was not the most major difference that set her apart.

Hermione was not sure how, but it felt like strange things happened around her... almost as though she was causing these things. Part of why she read so much was the hope that someday, she would discover what it was about her.

It was not that she could hear people's thoughts, or change time; it was simply that she seemed to have a knack of getting out of tough spots.

When Hermione was eight years old, she was at Rose's house. Rose was her elderly neighbor, and one of her parents' most common clients. Rose was lonely, having never married or had children, so sometimes she would go over for tea and a game of cards.

On that particular day, when Hermione was leaving Rose’s house, Sherlock, Rose’s cat, ran out the door.

“Sherlock, get back here!” Hermione gasped as the cat ran towards the street.

At that moment, a truck sped down the road.

“Stop, you're speeding!” Hermione yelled at the driver, but he either couldn't hear her, or was in no mood to take orders from a child in primary school.

Meanwhile, Sherlock kept running... right into the path of the truck.

“STOP!” Hermione screamed. “Sherlock, jump!”

It was a ridiculous command, and she knew it; cats could not jump that high.

But Sherlock did; he was in midair, then on the other side of the road, looking just as stunned as the truck driver.

Hermione stared at Sherlock, stunned.

Somehow, Hermione knew she had done something to enable Sherlock to jump. It wasn't just a coincidence. But how?

She did not think that this was the only time wherein something peculiar happened around her. When she had told the story to her mother, her mother had not seemed surprised, but did not comment further except to smile, and put her arm around her daughter.

“Sometimes,” Evelyn had told her, “strange things happen to special people.”

“But it didn't happen to a person, it happened to a cat,” Hermione pointed out.

“Listen,” Evelyn said quietly. “I can't explain what happened today any better than you. But whatever the reason, a miracle happened. Was the cat okay?”

“Perfectly,” Hermione replied.

“Well, then, what's the worry?”

Hermione looked at her feet.

“Not everything in life can be explained easily,” Evelyn said. “We just have to accept the events that come as they do. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, but – do you think I did something to make it happen?”

Evelyn hesitated. “Well, I suppose anything's possible, isn't it?”

Hermione had not been comfortable with the answer, so instead, she turned to her books. But nothing she read explained why the cat had jumped over the car... or even the small things, like why items she had lost would re-appear nearby (surely she would not have missed it upon looking the first time), or why glasses that had been knocked over were sometimes so easy to catch.

Hermione knew she was different, and not only because of her name or her interests.

*

“I can't believe you have never been here,” Katie Bates said as they entered the shop. “Especially as we live right 'round the corner!”

“I've been here, I just don't come much,” Hermione said.

Truth be told, Hermione did not really want to be with them. While she supposed Katie was all right, she had limited patience for Claire. But Hermione’s parents were friends with Katie’s parents, Katie being Hermione’s neighbor; thus, Evelyn Granger had urged Hermione to spend the day with them.

“It’s good for you to get out of your comfort zone, Hermione,” Evelyn had said. “And they’re nice girls. They may not be as into school as you, but they are still nice girls.”

So upon her mother’s orders, Hermione found herself stuck with girls she could not relate to. She wasn’t sure why her mother had forced her to come. She understood that her parents wanted her to make friends, but they also encouraged her to be friends with kids more like herself.

Of course, they had been acting strange all day anyway. When Hermione had come down for breakfast, her parents had been talking in low whispers. They would not explain why, changing the subject when she asked if something was wrong.

“Her parents forbid her to eat sweets,” Katie explained to Claire Murphy, who nodded in apparent understanding.

“You're almost twelve, you don't have to listen to our parents all the time anymore,” Claire said to Hermione, handing her a Mars Bar. “Try this – it won't kill you, I promise.”

“I do have to listen to my parents,” she insisted.

Hermione had in fact eaten a Mars Bar before, and quite enjoyed it. But if Claire was going to be patronizing, she was not about to give her the benefit of knowing the truth.

“You're so good,” Katie said.

“I wonder if the next edition of Sugar is out,” Hermione interrupted, looking at the magazine stand.

Sure enough, it was, and she grabbed a copy.

“Your parents let you read that?” Claire asked.

“Sure,” Hermione said. “It’s not just boys and clothing. Look – this issue has a story about a girl who grew up in war-torn…”

But Claire wasn’t listening; she had gone on to examine more magazines.

“That looks interesting,” Katie whispered, picking up a copy for herself. Hermione knew that Katie would never admit to being as interested in political and social unrest in front of Claire.

Hermione followed the girls, only half listening as they chatted about Gary Stewart, a boy they had gone to primary school with and everyone had loved. Even Hermione herself had had a bit of a crush on him, but then she heard him making fun of Sophie Miller, an overweight girl in her class.

She made some small attempts at conversation as they left the sweet shop and went into a clothing store, but decided after a while that they were not going to talk about anything that was truly worth her time.

Eventually, she found herself leaving them early, claiming she had homework to do. Nevermind that school was over for the year.

Hermione rode her bike back towards her house, and crept back inside.

She frowned, pausing at the door. She could hear an unfamiliar voice talking, and thought she heard her name, and slowly made her way towards the parlor, hoping she would not heard or seen.

“Your daughter is clearly very gifted,” the woman was saying.

“Yes, of course, we know that,” Bruce Granger said. “She always has been.”

“And we’ve always known she was special,” Evelyn added. “But… you’re asking us to accept something quite… impossible.”

“Has she ever done anything seemingly impossible?” The woman asked. “You mentioned that she saw a cat leap over a truck… did you not?”

“Yes, she did,” Bruce said. “But that doesn’t mean…”

“There was the time she fell down the stairs,” Evelyn said slowly.

Hermione raised her eyebrows; she had not heard that story.

“How do you mean?” The woman sounded curious.

“She was in her walker,” Evelyn began, “when she was a baby. I had thought that my mother had put a gate by the stairs, but she hadn’t… at the corner of my eye, I saw the walker fall down the steps. I was horrified.”

There was a pause, as though Evelyn was cringing at the memory. “I feared the worst… these were wooden steps, very old. I sprang to my feet, but to my surprise, Hermione was sitting inches away from the walker on the floor, as though she had picked herself up. She seemed as bewildered as I was.”

“And there was the time my Auntie Mabs gave her that horrendous haircut when she was two, and it grew back,” Bruce added.

“You never told me any of that!” Hermione blurted.

Her face went red, and she closed her eyes as a silence fell over the parlor.

“Sweetheart?” Evelyn’s voice called out.

Hermione bashfully made her way towards the grown ups.

Sitting across from her parents was a lady wearing rather dated clothing: it was as though she had stepped out of the 1940’s or 1950’s. She wore a pink button-down t-shirt and a long black skirt.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” Hermione said softly. “I got home early, and I heard you say my name…”

“Nobody’s perfect,” Bruce said fairly. “This is Professor Minerva McGonagall.”

The woman smiled, and Hermione didn’t get the impression smiling came naturally to her. Still, she didn’t seem unkind – just formal, serious, and to the point.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, shaking her hand. “We were just discussing your gifts.”

“This is the real reason you sent me out with Katie and Claire, isn’t it?” Hermione demanded.

“Not entirely, but part of it,” Evelyn admitted. “I take it you couldn’t handle them for long?”

She shook her head. “I got bored… but… what’s going on?”

Bruce and Evelyn exchanged a look.

“Last week, we got a letter from Professor McGonagall here, saying she wanted to discuss your talents,” Bruce said. “She said it was best she speak to us in private first.”

“Why? And why did you never tell me about falling out of my walker, or growing my hair back?”

“Because we didn’t want to confuse you,” Evelyn said. “We weren’t sure what to make out of it ourselves, let alone how to explain it to you.”

“And I have finally come here today to make it make sense,” Professor McGonagall added.

She looked at Hermione now, and Hermione looked back.

“Miss Granger, dear,” Professor McGonagall began, “you’re a witch.”

Hermione paused.

“But… witches are bad,” she said slowly.

“Some are, yes,” Professor McGonagall said. “However, not all are. Have you ever heard of Dorcas Meadows?”

“Of course!” Hermione said. “She’s well known for being a distinguished police officer in this very town, until her mysterious death.”

“She saved a lot of lives,” Professor McGonagall told her. “This would not have been possible had she not been fighting bad witches – using her own magical gifts.”

“Wait, she was a witch?” Bruce exclaimed.

“You may remember that there was a string of murders,” Professor McGonagall said. “They were not murders committed by Muggles.”

“Muggles?” Evelyn asked.

“Non-wizards and witches,” Professor McGonagall replied briskly. “The point is… you were born a witch. You have magical powers. I am the Deputy Headmistress of a school that will allow you to learn how to use them properly.”

“Wait… so… the stuff I do… that’s magic?”

Professor McGonagall nodded.

Magic.

Hermione stared at Professor McGonagall as she tried to comprehend it.

Magic wasn’t real, though. Even if witches could be good, they could not exist. Magic was in stories, made up to teach children lessons, and had been told throughout history as a way to explain things people could not understand. Magic was like Father Christmas – a wonderful idea, but not realistic.

Hermione then thought back to Sherlock, jumping over the truck. She had asked it to jump, and it had done exactly as she’d said… how was that possible? She’d known even at the time that it wasn’t. And yet, the cat had jumped. Toddlers were not supposed to be able to lift themselves out of falling walkers to safety, but apparently, she had managed to do so.

Hermione looked back at her parents; they, too, seemed to be confused.

Professor McGonagall then did something most peculiar – she pulled out a stick, and pointed it to a book on the coffee table.

“Wingardium leviosa,” she said.

To Hermione’s sheer amazement, the book lifted itself from the table into the air.

“This should be more proof,” Professor McGonagall said.

Hermione nodded slowly, looking at her parents once more, then back at Professor McGonagall.

“Are there… a lot of children like me? With magic powers?”

“Yes,” Professor McGonagall said gently.

“I see,” she said slowly.

Then Hermione broke into a smile.

Perhaps she was different, but there were, at least, some children who were different in the same way she was.


End file.
